When she calls I leave oysters, champagne,
and go straight there. She opens the door.
I follow her into the cold, candlelit room,
unsure about her arrangement: I have
never seen him in a suit in bed. Thinner,
longer, he looks so serious with his halo
of white hair. It’s been three days, but
I can’t… she starts, then smooths the sheet
to one side of him as she heaves with sighs
then stares as if I too should be crying.
But I, barely breathing, am thinking of things
we share, like air, that only belongs to the living;
him lying between us, no longer a part.